


we're going to be legen-

by Shamelessly_Radiant



Category: How I Met Your Mother
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22379224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamelessly_Radiant/pseuds/Shamelessly_Radiant
Summary: Robin, Barney and a pregnancy test.
Relationships: Robin Scherbatsky/Barney Stinson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 74





	we're going to be legen-

**Author's Note:**

> -wait for it-
> 
> yes, this probably doesn't fit into canon at all. no, i don't particularly care about canon at the moment. have some married robin and barney communicating and being generally okay, okay? despite freaking out, like a lot, because let's be honest, being adults is just not knowing what is going on all the damn time.

_In and out, Scherbatsky. In and out. Take it easy._ Robin shuts her eyes and tries to focus on her breathing, on calming her stomach, on anything but the panicky feeling that is leading her straight into a freak-out. Once or twice could be a coincidence, some bad food, a stomach bug, but _three_ times? _In and out, Scherbatsky_ , she thinks while sucking the air into her burning lungs, _in and out._

“Robin?” A half-sleeping, blearily blinking, rumpled – _adorable_ , her mind supplies, Barney, comes stumbling into the bathroom. “What’s wrong?” he asks, in a voice that sounds slightly more alert, eyes drifting from her bare knees on the cold linoleum floor, to her hands still clenched in a death grip around the toilet seat, to her panicked, probably pale face. She tries smiling but that only seems to alarm him more.

“Barney, I need you to not freak out, okay?” and if he notices her voice breaking on that last syllable, he doesn’t say anything about it. “I need you to get something for me from the apothecary.”

“Anything, babe, seriously.” The endearment, something he only calls her when he is trying to appear calm, would make her smile any other time, but this time she has to focus all her energy on not wincing when she says: “a pregnancy test.”

His face goes stony, and _God_ , this was a mistake. She practically _sees_ the fallout, so viscerally does she feel it – the judging, the anger, the _how could you forget to take your contraception?_ but all Barney does is nod and squeeze her shoulder briefly before leaving the bathroom. Robin practically shakes from the relief.

Dimly, she can hear him talking on the phone, but the words do not register. She shakily gets to her feet to splash some cold water in her face and pauses as she catches herself in the mirror. God, she looks awful. Big, panicked eyes with dark circles under them set in a pale face, lips bitten raw and slick with spit. “Ugh,” Robin scrunches up her nose and quickly wipes down her face, turning round to sit on the toilet seat and lowering her head into her hands.

Through her fingers she can see Barney’s slippers come back into the bathroom, stopping in front of her for a minute before retreating to her right as he sits down on the edge of the bathtub. After a minute or so in which the silence borders on painful, Robin tries to surreptitiously wipe her eyes before she looks up at him, hoping her eyes aren’t too red and puffy. Barney’s face gives nothing away.

“It’s on its way.” He says.

“How?” she frowns.

“Eh. I know a guy who knows a guy,” he shrugs and the _Barney_ -ness of it makes her smile dimly for a second.

“Thanks,” she manages, focusing on her toes on the tiles rather than him and so only notices he is handing her a glass of water when it bumps into her shoulder.

“Oh, no thanks. ‘m not really thirsty.”

“Drink the damn water, Robin,” Barney snaps, sounding less than calm for the first time since she woke him up with her retching. “Lily said to keep you hydrated. And if nothing else it will make you have to pee for the—” he waves his hand around, some water sloshing out of the glass.

“Okay.” She exhales, taking the glass out of his hand before the further content on it can get splattered, and taking small, measured sips of it. Barney exhales heavily, settling down more on the edge of the bathtub, and _that_ can’t be comfortable, but she isn’t going to be the one complaining. She likes that he is here, next to her. She wants to keep this moment for as long as she’s allowed to.

As long as she’s allowed to turn out to be exactly seven minutes, which is right about the time she feels both she and Barney are so jittery they’re going to jump right out of their skin. Her water is gone, now, so she’s got nothing to distract her either when the doorbell finally sounds.

“I’ll get it,” Barney rushes up and is gone.

“Okay, okay,” Robin mutters. “In and out, Scherbatsky.” She stands up. She sits back down on the toilet seat. She stands and opens it, and then shuts it again when it seems to stare up at her almost accusingly. How does one even go about taking a pregnancy test? What if she pees wrong? What if she drops it? She is so not cut out to be—

“Hey, hey, Robin.” Barney is back, gripping her upper arms, “focus on me, okay? Everything is okay. Just breathe, Scherbatsky, just breathe.”

Robin slumps back down onto the toilet. Barney kneels in front of her, a gentle hand cupping her face until she looks at him. “Hey,” he says softly, his eyes searching hers, “what’s going on in that head of yours? Talk to me.”

Talk to me.

Robin flashes back to their first session of couple’s therapy.

-

“Okay, so I’d say communication is your biggest issue as a couple. Would you agree?” Matilda, the therapist, had asked them, balancing her notepad on crossed knees.

“Our only issue is being way too awesome, what-up!” Barney had grinned, pumping a fist into the air. Robin had shaken her head and burrowed back into the couch. God, that thing was uncomfortable. You’d think a couch designed for a therapist office would be nice to sit on, knowing people would spill their guts on it. Though, maybe not. Maybe it is a torture technique. _The sooner you talk the sooner you can get up_ or even _talking will distract you from how uncomfortable you are._ She has totally figured it out.

“Robin?” the therapist had asked her.

“Huh?” Robin distractedly ran her hands over the folds of her sundress and looked up to meet the woman’s even gaze.

“Besides of a good dose of denial,” Matilda gestured to Barney, who was grinning at her, “would you agree that communication is your main issue?”

Robin had snortes. “Yeah.” Next to her, Barney had stopped grinning and was now pressing his arm into hers in that way that is code for _I’m trying to be here for you but I’ll straight up deny it until I die,_ or, in simpler terms, _I care._

“Now, you’re two highly independent, self-sustaining people, and that’s good, that you can take care of yourselves. However, from what you’ve told me about your parents, you both have some strong attachment issues, which make being on your own your default setting. You’re afraid of being abandoned so you can decide very quickly that you’re better of alone. Does that sound likely?”

Next to her Barney has gone quiet and stiff. Robin had nodded quickly without looking at anyone, fiddling with her nails. The tapestry had squelched beneath her heels.

After a heavy pause in which Robin assumed Barney must’ve nodded too, Matilda had continued.

“This is all very natural and perfectly normal, okay? Robin? Barney?” Two jerky nods. “You’re protecting yourselves and that’s good. However, you’ll need to learn to talk to each other. Now, I’m not saying it’s necessary to have a heart-to-heart about every little annoyance. That’s not who you are and that’s not who you _have_ to be. Every couple is different and there is no way in which things should or shouldn’t be done, no matter what your friends say. However, a little more communication is advisable. We need to wrap up now, but I want you to try and talk about little grievances. Start small, don’t let it all pile up. If you feel the need to run away, communicate that you need some space and talk about it later. Remember, practice makes perfect.” She had said with an uplifting note that she is pretty sure neither her nor Barney had particularly felt at the moment.

Robin had grimaced back as she pushed to stand up from the horrid couch. Next to her Barney’s suit rustled as he stood up too, already reaching for his wallet. Matilda had her reading glasses on as she perused her agenda, asking “when shall I pencil you two in again?”

“Oh, I don’t know—”

“We’re very busy, you know how it is—”

Robin and Barney had broken off to flick each other a short glance and weak smiles.

“Of course.” Matilda had said after a beat. “You have my contact info. Take care.” And after shaking their hands, she had gestured to the door. And as soon as that door had clicked shut behind them, Robin had mimicked blowing out her brains, and they had wholeheartedly agreed to _never_ do that again.

Yet, two weeks later, there they had been. Sitting on her couch again. And again. And again.

_-_

_Small things, huh, Matilda? I don’t quite think you meant this._ Robin thinks, feeling the need to laugh hysterically. Yet Barney is there, kneeling on the very cold, very hard tiles in front of her, and he’s not going anywhere, and though she feels like running to the hills, screaming, she knows him well enough to know that’s going through his head to, and how much he must be fighting it, and she’s so _grateful_ because who else would understand but them?

So she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: “I’m so glad it’s you and not Ted.”

He pulls back as if slapped. Snorts. Snorts again, but louder. Lets out a hysterical sounding laugh.

“Well, I’d bloody well hope so, Scherbatsky.”

“Why are you cursing in British?”

“Why are you bringing up Ted?”

“God, I need a drink.” She groans, leaning heavily on her hand even if her elbow is digging painfully into her knee.

“You can’t.” Barney grips her hand tight. “Because of the, uh, you know.”

She looks at his hand in hers, his earnest face and feels a small part of herself chipping and withering away. She looks down, runs her thumb over his. Breathes in, out. Says “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know Barney.”

“Don’t know what?” He asks, carefully, and she literally groans, standing up to pace around him out into the living room. She needs space. She needs the floor not to be so damn cold under her bare feet. She needs them to not be so damn careful around each other. She needs talking to be not so fucking hard.

She draws her dressing gown tighter around herself. “I don’t know what I want!” She explodes. “I’ve always said I don’t want kids, and I don’t, but—”

“But now you’re not sure?” Barney is still standing in the entrance to the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, brown paper bag clutched in his fist.

Robin deflates and sinks down onto the couch. “When I’m done peeing on that stick, I don’t know how I’ll feel about it no matter how it turns out.”

Because a tiny part of her feels that among the huge relief, she’ll be disappointed if that thing turns out to be negative. Just a little bit disappointed. Barney and she talked a lot before doing this, nights out at McLaren’s when it was just the two of them left and they didn’t need to hide anymore, on his couch or hers with a beer when Ted was out with Karen, or Zoey, or someone else, during the pillow talk. They talked about their crappy dads— Barney’s less crappy one after he’d met him, about how awesome they were, about their jobs— though Robin still didn’t full understood what exactly it was that Barney did, about how awesome they were going to be, about sex, about the art of picking up women, about the art of picking up _men_ , about scotch and cigars and bro’s, about laser tag. About how good a team they were, about not wanting to _ever_ get married, about maybe marriage wouldn’t be so bad if it was with you— and never about children, besides their mutual vehement dislike for them.

So, if this thing turns out to be negative. Then, that’s it. There will be no trying, no unprotected sex, no figuring out when she’s ovulating and eating oranges or fish. And she should be okay with that, because it is what they both want, but a tiny part of her might not ever be okay with it. And she doesn’t know how to tell him all of this. She doesn’t know how to be so vulnerable.

Barney crosses over to her in three quick strides and sinks down onto the couch next to her. “Hey, Robin. Whatever the result is, whatever you want, I’m here for you, okay? If you are pregnant and you don’t want it, I’ll pay for it. If your pregnant and you do want it… I’ll support you, and I don’t just mean child support, okay? Then I’ll be… _a dad._ ” He breathes in and out shakily, but grapples for his composure back, gripping her folded hands tight in his as he angles his body fully towards her.

“And if I’m not pregnant… but I decide I might like to be… someday?”

“Then we’ll talk about it,” he promises. “Like Matilda said, right?”

Robin sniffles, smiling through the tears. “You’re awesome, you know that?”

Barney’s slightly alarmed _help, I do not know how to deal with crying women_ -expression subsides in a softer barely there smile that he seldom lets anyone see, even her, even after they’ve been married for almost two year. It’s fond, it’s mushy, and they both pretend not to like being that way even though secretly, sometimes, Robin really, really does.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Scherbatsky,” he says, lips turning up into a real smile, pressing in close until their foreheads touch. It’s code for _I love you, too_ and one of them will need to break the moment off soon because it is not who they are. Barney does, after a second longer, with the question of “will you now finally pee on my stick, woman?” waggling eyebrows and all.

“Ewww!” Robin snatches the bag out of his hand and makes her way back into the bathroom.

“Do you need some help?” Barney asks innocently, even as he grazes her bum with his hand while she walks past.

“I really _really_ don’t.” Robin calls back over her shoulder but is unsurprised when he joins her in the bathroom a few seconds later after all. He perches on the tub’s edge again while she is fumbling with the bright blue cardboard box, and his whole body is coiled and tight to run but he is _staying_ and she is having the really strong urge to reach out and take his hand in hers so instead she gives him her best annoyed face and asks if “you’re going to stay for the show, really?”

“Do you want me to go?” He asks, already standing even though a flash of disappointment just crossed his face.

Robin gives herself a second more before “nah.”

“Good.” He breathes out, smiles faintly, settling back down. “Now come on, Scherbatsky, pee.”

“I’m going, I’m going!”

-

“God, this is taking forever,” Barney says, voice wretched, retreating to the kitchen to dig through—

“Hey, now!” Robin exclaims, going after him to take away the scotch. “If I don’t get to drink, neither do you. Solidarity, mister!”

“But Robin!” he whines, drawing out her name and pouting.

“Nu-uh.” Robin says, placing the scotch back into the cabinet, pushing it shut “This thing doesn’t come out until later— or, well, nine months from now. Oh, God, who am I kidding, I can’t do this!” Robin fumbles to open the cabinet again, but Barney is there, whirling her around, crowding her up against the cabinet.

“Shh,” he says, kissing her neck, “I’ll distract you for the next two minutes and then we can see what we need to freak out about, deal?”

“Handle.” Robin mumbles back, wriggling.

“Yeah, you do,” Barney grins against her cheek, drawing her earlobe into his mouth, and a familiar heat spreads out in Robin’s belly.

“What? No, the handle is digging into my back.”

“What?” Barney murmurs distractedly, “Oh.” He backs away. Robin follows, kissing him again, sliding her hands into his ridiculous suit-jama’s that she secretly loves.

“Wait, wait.” Barney says, wrenching his head away. “This is what started that” he jerks his chin towards the living room table, where the pregnancy stick is lying, looking innocent. On second thought, maybe they should buy a new coffee table after this. “Oh _no_ ,” Barney says, “We’ll never be able to have sex again, am I? I’m going to be celibate.”

“While I do appreciate that you didn’t immediately jump to ‘open marriage’,” Robin starts, and cuffs him when his eyes go wide and shiny, “of course we’ll have sex again. Lots of it. _If_ I’m— well, you know, then the damage is already done, if I’m not, then well, we’ll talk. Besides, I heard from Lily that the whole pregnancy hormone cocktail makes women very horny.”

Barney is looking at her like a kid in a candy store, though not because of what Robin just said. “Oh my god, your boobs are going to get _so big._ ”

Right. And she’ll get bloated. And her feet will swell. And—

“Are you ready to look?” Barney asks her, bringing her back into the present.

“Are we ready to potentially totally screw up a child?” Robin asks him, leaning back heavily into the cabinet again, not caring about the handle anymore.

“Pshh. Scherbatsky. You, awesome. Me, _awesome._ This potential kid—” he waggles his fingers between the two of them, “awesome. And then _some._ Come on.”

He leads her back to the couch. “Ready either way?” he asks her.

“Ready either way,” she nods, and thinks she knows what it will be already.

“This will be legen— wait for it-” He says, reaching to flip over the stick.

“Dary.” Robin finishes, and kisses him first, not even looking at the result, because no matter what, she knows they will be.

**Author's Note:**

> dary!
> 
> Leave me a note?


End file.
